


Dirty Laundry

by Moonlight_Shining



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: (about as smart as waving a red flag in front of a bull really), Attempted PWP, F/M, Foreseeable backlash, Missing Scene, Name-Calling, Olaf as a human laundry basket, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Reckless provocation of the dumbest sort, Revenge, Sorry I don't do Lemony Snicket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-05 22:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20281219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Shining/pseuds/Moonlight_Shining
Summary: She could plainly see from the look on his face that something was bothering him, and knowing him, it wasn’t too hard to figure out what it was. No evil plan to hatch, no orphan to torment, no minion to order around; he must be bored to death. And if Olaf was bored, then there was no way that he would leave her alone – at least not without being properly put in his place first.





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bea_bickerknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/gifts), [RobinWritesChirps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Partner Trouble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778346) by [bea_bickerknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife). 
  * Inspired by [Troubled Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324940) by [bea_bickerknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife). 

> To bea_bickerknife: All of the amazing stuff you’ve written about Georgina is the reason I fell in love with her and with Eswell. So you can think of this as a thank-you both for inspiring me and for giving me a new OTP to obsess over. I hope you’ll like it. 
> 
> To GamblingDementor: I’ve already told you, but your advice and clever insights are invaluable. Thank you for your time and also for putting up with all my strange writing quirks. Part of me still regrets letting that idea of yours go to waste: cutting off Georgina’s underwear with a knife instead of using his hands like a normal, civilized human being is something Olaf would definitely consider. Unfortunately, Georgina would also definitely knock all of his teeth out for it, which I’m afraid might spoil the mood somehow.

The door had only just closed on the Baudelaire boy when Olaf began to edge toward Georgina, with a glint in his eyes that left little doubt as to his intentions.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment all day”, he said as he moved in for the kill, confusion registering on his face when she sidestepped him and he was left kissing the air in the vicinity of her hair instead.

“Not so fast. Don’t you have a call to make first? I’m sure Fernald will want to know about the trigger words. As for me, I still have some work to do.”

For a second, Olaf looked ready to launch into a rant, but then he snapped his mouth shut, making the right decision for once in his life, and headed for the reception desk.

Excellent, Georgina thought, and retreated up the stairs.

False as they were, his pathetic attempts at earning his way back into her good graces did have their benefits. Of course, it was only a matter of time before the old Olaf reared his ugly head from underneath the layers of sweet talk and boot-licking – what’s bred in the bones comes out in the flesh – but then again, who said that she couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted?

If everything went according to plan, she would be rid of him soon enough anyway. _All you have to do is make sure he actually keeps his part of the bargain_, she thought, absentmindedly stroking the knob of her cane.

She sat at her workbench, propping the cane on the nearby desk, and picked up the remains of Klaus Baudelaire’s glasses, turning them over in her hands. The sound of Olaf’s triumphant voice drifted up from below as he boasted on the phone to the hook-handed man.

Georgina put the glasses back down. Both of the lenses were cracked, one of the temples had gone missing altogether, and the rest of the frame looked about to come apart. Simply put, they were beyond repair, and that left her with no choice but to make a new pair from scratch.

She set to work immediately, grumbling inwardly about overzealous henchmen. At least, she took some comfort in knowing that she would be amply compensated for her time once she got hold of her share of the Baudelaire fortune.

She was so engrossed in her task that she didn’t notice that the phone call had ended. Nor did she hear the increasingly louder sighs that punctuated the silence or the shuffling noises as Olaf started to poke around the waiting room, looking for a way to kill time and finding none, since it wasn’t Doctor Orwell’s habit to leave valuables – not to mention alcohol or smutty magazines – lying around her practice.

Georgina remained oblivious to all the pacing about and fumbling and even to the failed attempt at picking the reception desk’s locked drawer with the help of a nail clipper’s file. She couldn’t, however, miss the ostentatious clacking of heels as Olaf sauntered up the stairs, and she had an inkling that he was bringing neither coffee nor good news, the only valid reasons for interrupting her while she was working.

“What is it?” she asked without looking up from the lens she was polishing.

“Nothing...”

Feigned nonchalance. That didn’t bode well.

The footsteps drew a little too close for comfort, and she reluctantly dropped her fining pad, swiveling around to face him. Years of experience had taught her that it was no use ignoring Olaf when he got into one of his moods, so she cut to the chase.

“Well, if there’s _nothing_, then I guess you won’t mind keeping out of the way while I make sure one of your schemes actually pays off for once.”

Of course, she could plainly see from the look on his face that there _was_ something, and knowing him, it wasn’t too hard to figure out what it was. He had no evil plan to hatch, no orphan to torment, no minion to order around, and on top of that, Georgina wouldn’t deign to spread her legs for him no matter how obvious he was being; he must be bored to death. And if Olaf was bored, then there was no way that he would leave her alone – at least not without being properly put in his place first.

“Not all of us can afford to sit around all day blabbering on the phone,” she snapped as exasperation got the better of her, and then kicked herself for playing right into his hands. He never missed an opportunity to complain, and she had just handed him the perfect opening.

“Well, since you mention it, I’m getting rather tired of rotting away down there on my own, staring at all of your creepy” – he gestured vaguely as if chasing a pesky fly – “eye thingies.”

Georgina took a deep breath and let the comment slide. He wasn’t consciously trying to anger her – not yet in any case – but like a spoiled child, he craved attention in any form, and she had no intention of pandering to his whims.

“Are you saying that you’d like to make yourself useful then?” she asked instead, tilting her head to the side. “How sweet. You know, there’s a pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink that’s just begging for your attention.”

“What? And ruin two hours of grueling work?” he said, waving his scarlet-painted nails in Georgina’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

Any excuse was good enough not to get his hands dirty (or in this particular situation, wet), but she still had to admit that he had done a remarkable job, especially for someone who purportedly couldn’t tell a base coat from a top coat.

She was ready to suggest that he retire from the stage to focus on his newfound ability, thereby doing both himself and the world of theater a great favor, but she didn’t get a chance.

“Anyway...” Olaf’s voice dropped an octave. “I’m sure you could put my skills to better use. I can think of many _activities_ that would be much more pleasant for the both of us.”

He smiled at her. It was the same smile he always sported on the occasions when he had decided that he would sooner woo than provoke her; the same smile that she had already seen back on his face twice that day. That smile was full of the kind of promises he would actually keep; it heralded the sort of arguments that played to her weaknesses; it was, under normal circumstances, a deadly weapon.

Somehow, Olaf discovered, neither his winning smile nor his husky tone seemed to hold quite the same sway when they came from Shirley St. Ives.

His big charm offensive earned him nothing but a quirked eyebrow and a matching smirk to boot.

“I’m working.”

“Alright.”

Count Olaf wasn’t, however, a man easily discouraged. Even as he appeared to concede defeat, Shirley’s gaze dropped, tracing a slow, leisurely path down Georgina’s body, from the enticing dip of her collarbone to the small expanse of leg that peeked out above her boots.

When it rose back up to meet hers again, Georgina’s resolve wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been mere seconds before. Wide and coy, his eyes only met hers for a second before he lowered them again, this time staring at the floor by her feet.

“Sorry to have disturbed you,” he breathed.

He even had the nerve to look flustered, as if he had been unable to keep himself from ogling her like she was a goddamn piece of meat. The perfect little subordinate who had got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

And worst of all, it worked.

She was enraged that he dared use his cheap comedy tricks on her, knowing that she would see through every last one of them and that she would fall for them all the same. He knew her too well; he knew what this simple gesture of submission would awaken in her. And of course, he had seen the way she had looked at him earlier as he finished applying his make-up in front of the bathroom mirror.

She had poked her head around the door to tell him to get a move on and found that he looked positively laughable.

There had been something else though, something that had her linger for a second too long, and of course he had noticed. He had smirked at her with his obscenely painted lips, and her mind was suddenly flooded with visions of him kneeling between her thighs, his lipstick smudged and his hands bound behind his back.

That was the trouble with Olaf. He never ceased to infuriate her; he never failed to tempt her. Even in that ridiculous getup.

He smirked at her knowingly, shedding the ingenue persona as easily as he would a shirt.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

Georgina had to close her eyes to will away a sudden urge to scream as he ventured further into the room and she had to kiss any hope of a diplomatic way out goodbye. So much for trying to make amends, the mindless idiot just couldn’t help himself.

He plopped down into the examination chair behind her with none of Shirley’s usual daintiness, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere soon, and Georgina silently began to list the pros and cons of exacting a profitable revenge on the Baudelaires versus beating him to death with her cane (much more satisfying than mere stabbing) and disposing of the body under the ashes of Paltryville.

He did keep quiet for the time being, but knowing him, that was only the infamous calm before the storm. She resumed her polishing, but work was the furthest thing from her mind with that sword of Damocles hanging over her head. The wheels in her brain were spinning as she searched for a way to somehow turn the situation to her advantage. She couldn’t wage open war on him, not if she wanted a taste of that nice big pile of money, but that did not mean that she had to let him walk all over her. He wanted to make her life miserable? Two could play at that game.

When Olaf made his presence felt again, she was ready for him.

“Why do you even need to do that?” he asked, and she turned around to face him.

He sprawled in her priceless chair as if it were a common lounger, ankle over knee, absently picking at a small run in his stocking, and Georgina had half a mind to press on the knob that would engage the restraints. _Then you could stuff his own wig into his mouth and work in peace for a while… if you wanted to._

She didn’t really want to. While work would certainly help the Baudelaire scheme along, it would do nothing to relieve the tension that threatened to make her snap, the direct result of nearly twenty-four hours spent in Olaf’s decidedly unwelcome company, and she feared what might happen if she let it reach fever pitch. No, she needed something much better than work.

With a disarming smile, she rose to her feet and walked the few steps that separated them.

“_Because_ fixing glasses is what I do,” she said as though she were talking to a particularly slow child. “I’m a perfectly competent and upstanding health professional. And I have nothing to do whatsoever with whatever strange accidents might be happening around here.”

Olaf’s eyes lit up with interest as she spoke and by the time she was done with her little lecture, there was no doubt that he had taken the bait, so easily that she felt almost disappointed. He had struck an affected pose, legs crossed and hands knotted in his lap, and when he replied, it was in that irritating falsetto that set her teeth on edge.

“Forgive my ignorance. You see, I’m just a poor receptionist who doesn’t know any better.”

Georgina stood so close to him now that the lapel of her coat brushed against his arm and he had to crane his neck to look her in the eye, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy reveling in the feeling of victory.

“That’s right,” Georgina said. “I’m the one doing the thinking here...”

Laughing on the inside, she pretended not to notice the flicker of annoyance that crossed his face. And he called himself an actor.

“Although you did very well this morning,” she added, and he puffed up visibly.

She took his chin between thumb and forefinger, and Olaf gladly let her tilt his face up as she leaned over, so close that their breaths mingled and her hair brushed his neck. His lips parted, eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss that was much too slow in coming to his taste.

It never came.

She could smell the coffee he had at lunchtime, along with a whiff of something that made her blood boil. Apparently, somebody had indulged in a little digestif, drinks on the house.

She pulled away, thumb idly stroking the hint of invisible stubble around his jaw line, and brought her mouth to his ear.

“You could drop by at the lumber mill if you’re so in need of company, why don’t you? Invite yourself for tea. I’m sure Sir would be _delighted_ to get the chance to know you better.”

Olaf’s eyes flew open as he jerked out of her grip, giving a distinctly un-Shirley-like growl.

“Georgina…”

It was a warning, which she was only too happy to disregard. Indeed, how could he expect her to resist when he was being such easy prey?

“I’m not entirely sure Charles would approve, but then again, you’re not afraid of Charles, are you?”

He was openly glaring at her now and she could tell that he was reaching the end of what little patience he had in store for people he couldn’t afford to burn, drown, hit or lock away. All she would have to do was to push him a little further and he would storm off in a huff…

But Georgina had no intention of letting him off so easily.

“It’s okay,” she said in her most reassuring tone. “He can ogle you all he likes, who could blame him? But I’m not in the habit of sharing what is mine.”

“Yours?”

He stared up at her, his face scrunched up in confusion, and she couldn’t suppress a shiver of anticipation as she realized that she had got him precisely where she wanted him.

“Mine, my silly little receptionist,” Georgina repeated, as mildly as if they were discussing the weather. Her next words, however, were as sharp as the blade she kept hidden in her boot.

“Or were you under the impression that you could just waltz in here, dressed like a slut, take whatever you want and get out?”

The stiletto was in her hand in a flash, and she relished the panicky look in Olaf’s eyes as he wondered how much of this was actually play and how much was Georgina flipping out on him. She was in no great hurry to enlighten him.

The blade rested on his neck, right under his chin, and the slightest pressure – not even enough to break the skin – was all it took for him to squirm visibly.

“Don’t you know anything?” she sneered. “I’m a doctor and you... well, you’re nobody. You’re mine to do as I please, and believe me, you won’t get what you want unless you give me what _I_ want.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, but he seemed to have gotten the message, for the question he asked was the right one.

“What do you want?”

There were many things Georgina Orwell wanted out of life, but only one them had been on her mind ever since Count Olaf had shown up on her doorstep – revenge. She would exact payment from those who had wronged her, and that included the Baudelaires just as much as the pathetic excuse for a man currently sitting before her. All she had to do was to be patient and grit her teeth through a few more days of Olaf pretending to cooperate while being a constant thorn in her side. In the mean time, she knew just the right way to sweeten the wait.

“Only yesterday you were talking my ear off about your broken heart, and your regrets, and your _ardent_ desire to… How did you put it?” She stroked her chin as if deep in thought. “Ah yes, ‘somehow make things right’. Well, this is your lucky day, because _I_ _want_ to give you a chance to make good on your word.”

She watched Olaf’s face closely for any sign of rebellion but his expression betrayed nothing but a healthy dose of concern for his physical integrity. A great change had come over him since Georgina had begun resorting to strong-arm tactics, and there was no trace of the smart mouth that had gotten them into this situation in the first place.

“Just tell me. You know I’d do anything,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested he would indeed do much anything to get her knife away from the arteries in his throat.

And of course, he would, especially if that something involved the two of them rolling around naked on Georgina’s office floor – or if he believed it did. Time to put the carrot back in the carrot-and-stick approach.

“Really?”

The chair squeaked when she tugged on the armrest, swiveling it around so its confused occupant was now facing the picture window. Olaf started at the sudden absence of cold metal against his skin. His ample bosom sank as he breathed an audible sigh of relief, and it was with trembling fingers that he reached for the tender spot on his neck, feeling around for a nonexistent cut.

Without rushing, Georgina walked away from him, ignoring the stool on which she had perched earlier in favor of a more comfortable alternative. By the time he had pulled himself together, she had already dragged the padded chair out from herdesk and was comfortably seated on it, her knife tucked out of sight, the very picture of harmlessness.

“Kneel then,” she said pleasantly, motioning to the small expanse of floor between them.

Her other hand slid from its innocent resting place on her lap to the bare skin of her knee, tracing the hem of her dress before delving underneath, her legs parting slightly as she trailed her fingers up the inside of her thigh.

Mere feet away, Olaf sat stock-still, his jaw slack, looking for the world as if she had put him into a hypnotic trance.

There couldn’t have been much to see. Not with how the skirt of her dress bunched around her wrist; certainly not with the scrap of black satin still covering her. And yet, judging by the hungry fascination in his eyes, it was more than enough to rob Olaf of the last of his flimsy self-control.

Georgina’s fingertips skimmed the front of her underwear, seeking – finding – that one spot that desperately ached for some attention. Even through the fabric, a mere rub was enough to send a wave of delicious tingles all through her stomach, making her hips jerk reflexively. She was more than ready to take things to the next level, if only Olaf would hurry up and stop gaping at her like a useless idiot.

“Well, are you going to help or do I have to do all the work by myself, as usual?”

The jibe seemed to snap him out of his trance, and he rose instantly, staggering a little on his vertiginous heels in his haste to obey.

Sex had always had a strange, addling effect on Olaf’s brain, and now the perspective of finally getting his way was enough to literally bring him to his knees, never stopping once to wonder about the reasons behind her sudden change of heart.

He knelt before her, speechless for once, and she wasted no time in directing his hand to the waistband of her underwear, scooting forward on her seat and lifting her hips obligingly. She had no use for his honeyed words and caresses. Not anymore. She still had use for his hands and mouth though.

“Now”– She spread her legs invitingly – “I’ve been feeling a little tense lately, what with all of your demands and constant interruptions. Take care of that, will you?”

The first touch of his lips against her sensitive flesh had her gasping, and it wasn’t long before she grabbed the back of his head, holding him in place as they slipped into a heady rhythm, his tongue swirling around her clit in time with the insistent rocking of her hips.

It had been a while, longer than she would care to admit, and it felt so damn good – too good. Her movements were growing more erratic by the minute; every graze of his nimble tongue over her hardened nub felt like a stab of pleasure, which threatened to topple her over the edge much faster than she would have liked.

She pulled away, and not a moment too soon. A not-so-gentle shove on the shoulders sent Olaf tumbling backwards on the floorboards, his hands leaving Georgina’s knees to break his fall. He landed heavily on his cushioned bottom, his wig crooked and his glasses askew.

“What the hell…?” he snapped, but the protest died in his throat as, suddenly, she was no longer towering over him but kneeling by his side, and her hand was cupping the bulge that tented his printed skirt. Olaf groaned and decided that his energy could be better spent after all, namely by helping Georgina remove any obstacle still standing between him and what he believed to be a particularly well-earned fuck.

He hitched up the skirt; she yanked at the padded shorts in her haste to get to the skin beneath, and then followed the unmistakable sound of nylon ripping under their combined efforts. No time to breathe, she was already straddling his thighs, and he stopped thinking as she sank down onto him, taking him effortlessly.

For a second, it was almost enough, and Georgina paused, savoring the feeling of fullness, before the want and frustration came hurtling back with a vengeance. She started to move on top of him, setting a fast, deliberate pace that caught him unawares, so that for a while all he could do was lie there helplessly, gasping and clutching at the air. She didn’t mind overmuch.

Then he recovered and began arching up, meeting her thrust for thrust. He reached for her, one of his hands tangling into the hair at her nape, preparing to pull her down for a kiss. Meanwhile, his other hand traveled down her neckline, getting the topmost button of her dress open before she had the time to react.

She grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them down on the floor either side of him. It was all pretend, as they both knew he could have overpowered her easily, but he didn’t struggle. He was, after all, trying to make amends – or rather _pretending_ to make amends, corrected the part of her brain that remembered all too well about the bar mitzvah and the bridge and the cold water rushing into her mouth and up her nose. Lying snake.

Well, if fucking was the only thing he was good at, so be it. Georgina had learned to make the most of whatever life threw at her.

Her dress pooled around her waist, covering them, and she tugged the fabric out of the way impatiently. Her fingers found the wet heat between her legs, and she started to rub her clit in counterpoint to the thrusts of his hips. It was perfect, achingly perfect, and she was sure it couldn’t get any better, until he changed his angle, hitting a spot inside her that sent tendrils of white hot pleasure all through her stomach, then hitting it over and over again.

“You love that, don’t you?” he said, and she got a sudden urge to slap the smugness off his face, decided that her hands were better occupied elsewhere after all and settled for verbal retaliation instead. She grasped around for a witty retort, found none through the haze that clouded her brain, and pressed her lips shut in a vain attempt to stifle her moans.

_Never mind_, she told herself, _all good things come to she who waits. Let him believe he’s won. He’ll never see it coming. _She was never going to last long, not with how perilously close to the edge she had teetered just moments before and, even though he didn’t know it, his intimate knowledge of the workings of her body worked against him.

She sped up her movements, feeling the heat inside her swell to an all-consuming blaze. And then she was coming, all of the tension that had built up inside her leaving her body in long, throbbing waves. The nails of her free hand dug into Olaf’s shoulder and he hissed, driving into her with careless abandon as she writhed above him, drawing out the glorious sensation for as long as possible.

He barely noticed when she went still, too caught up in his own need, chasing after a destination he would never reach.

“Stop,” Georgina said, and it was testament to the power she still yielded over him that he immediately complied. Then again, maybe it was just the element of surprise… In any case, he froze, making it easy for her to slide off him and grab the hem of his bunched up skirt. Of course, her little provocation would be much more satisfying if the flowery skirt hadn’t been hers prior to its requisition by Count Olaf. Still, it had never been her favorite and it wasn’t like she had ever intended to wear it again, even _before_ the stretching it had undergone to give passage to Shirley’s sizable derriere.

“Wait. What are you…?”

Looked like someone wouldn’t be able to weasel out of laundry duty this time.

Hoping that it would ram the point home, she reached for her discarded underwear.

“Playtime’s over,” she said and just like that she was gone, rising on trembling legs and letting her dress drop back into place. The balled-up panties landed neatly on his stomach.

It was all Georgina could do not to visibly stumble, but it was worth the effort if only to see the look of mingled shock and outrage on Olaf’s face. She leaned against the side of her desk for support and reached for the handle of her trusty cane.

“You!”

It was impossible to keep a straight face when he looked such a pathetic sight, lying there propped-up on his elbows, all torn-up stockings and ruined makeup, his neglected erection jutting out from between his shorts and hitched-up skirt. He also looked about to explode with rage, and a little reminder of who was in charge struck her as necessary.

“As I already told you, I still have some work to do.” She poked him in the ribs with the tip of her cane. “Now be a good little receptionist and make yourself scarce. Or I might decide I need a new one.”


End file.
